


Snuffles Cleanser

by MixterGlacia



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two small Grimmons stories. Grif is not the most healthy fellow in the Army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snuffles Cleanser

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from Tumblr. Two small stories, the first being inspired by http://sigma-enigma.tumblr.com/post/138638180447/some-nerd-if-you-stop-eating-refined-sugars-for-a .

**Palate Cleanser**

 

Well big surprise Simmons was lecturing again. Of all the things he could’ve picked, it was this crackpot theory about “refined” sugar. Grif had tuned out the second he’d entered the kitchen where Donut and ….Caboose? (Note to self, remove the Blue before Sarge woke up…Or not, it could be entertaining.) were sitting listening attentively.

“If you’d just take a few months or years to not eat refined sugars, you’d start to notice things that are naturally sweet! For example, baby carrots!” The whirrs of his robotic arm gesturing wildly made it hard to take him serious even at the best of times.

“I like carrots!” Caboose shouted joyfully. Good to know someone was liking the speech.

“Or even whole-wheat br-” Simmons was continuing before he was interrupted by a bag ripping open and loud crunching.

He whirled, glaring down his tubby teammate who seemed to be dipping potato chips in the Nutella jar before horking them down. That explained why the spread was so nasty lately.

“ **Grif**! Aren’t you listening to me?!” His attempt at intimidation was thwarted by his voice cracking.

“Yeah man.” He drawled around a mouthful of unholy potato-hazelnuttines, “Real fuckin’ neato.”

* * *

 

**Snuffles**

 

Grif hadn’t dragged himself out of bed yet. Nine times out of ten, this wasn’t abnormal. Except that he never failed to show up for dinner. Judging by the surplus of food, Grif was still out for the count. 

Simmons wasn’t worried for him or anything. That would mean emotional attachment and that was totally not a thing he had for his teammate.

Nope. 

Not at all.

Therefore, in his mind, Simmons was just…doing his job as the responsible type. Yeah, that’s all there is to it. 

 

He nervously trailed a hand along the wall as he went to the barracks, trying not to come up with nightmare scenarios. When he arrived at the door, he found it shut. He hesitated a moment before gently knocking. 

No answer.

Instead of trusting the voice in his head screaming to just leave, Simmons carefully opened the door. He heard someone shift in one of the bunks. 

Quietly, he walked over to the one occupied bed, trying to ignore the butterflies that had apparently infested his stomach at some point. (Which he would point out, meant nothing.) 

“….Grif?” He squeaked. He fucking hated when his voice cracked like that. 

The man in question made a displeased sound before rolling over and squinting up at Simmons with mismatched eyes. 

“I’m not getting up, fuck off.” His voice was hoarse, and he sounded stuffed up. That explained the disappearing act. He’d come down with a bug of some kind.

“I’m not telling you to get up!” Simmons whispered defensively, not wanting to draw attention. Even though everyone was totally out of earshot.

“Well, what -are- you doing here, huh? Gonna lecture me about washing my armor?” The sickly man rasped, on a roll. “Or my hands? You’re always bitching about that one. Or-” He was shut up by a foam box being shoved in his face.

Looking suspicious, Grif managed to work himself into a sitting position before studying the box more closely. When he opened it, it was full of food. Not even Simmons standard carrots and meatloaf, but all of the things Grif binged on when he thought everyone was gone. Before he could even think of something to say, Simmons had one more surprise. 

A pack of cigarettes.

 

When he looked up at the fidgeting man, Grif realized that if he made any fuss or comment, Simmons would bolt. So he just gave a small lopsided smile and ate one of the cookies on top of the pile of food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tension ease out of Simmons shoulder, and the tiniest hint of a smile. 

He wanted to be sick more often after that.


End file.
